1 78 The Wilderness Hunter 



his neck, breaking the bone, and he turned a tre 

 mendous back somersault. The other two halted a 

 second in stunned terror; then one, a yearling, 

 rushed past us up the valley down which we had 

 come, while the other, a large bull with small ant 

 lers, crossed right in front of me, at a canter, his neck 

 thrust out, and his head so coarse-looking com 

 pared to the delicate outlines of an elk s- turned 

 toward me. His movements seemed clumsy and 

 awkward, utterly unlike those of a deer; but he 

 handled his great hoofs cleverly enough, arid broke 

 into a headlong, rattling gallop as he went down 

 the hillside, crashing through the saplings and leap 

 ing over the fallen logs. There was a spur a little 

 beyond, and up this he went at a swinging trot, 

 halting when he reached the top, and turning to look 

 at me once more. He was only a hundred yards 

 away ; and though I had not intended to shoot him 

 (for his head was not good), the temptation was 

 sore; and I was glad when, in another second, the 

 stupid beast turned again and went off up the valley 

 at a slashing run. 



Then we hurried down to examine with pride and 

 pleasure the dead bull his massive form, sleek coat, 

 and fine antlers. It was one of those moments that 

 repay the hunter for days of toil and hardship; that 

 is if he needs repayment, and does not find life in 

 the wilderness pleasure enough in itself. 



It was getting late, and if we expected to reach 



